


Mellie's Short Story

by FoxxiMcLeod



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 16:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20603621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxxiMcLeod/pseuds/FoxxiMcLeod
Summary: Just a short story for one of my Dungeons and Dragons characters. I'm dropping it here for ease of sharing





	Mellie's Short Story

Mellie yanked the glove off her hand and glared at the crimson bead forming on her finger. It caught the early morning sunlight and glistened against her tanned skin. She hissed and stuck the pricked digit in her mouth sucking gingerly. No matter how long she spent tending these thrice-damned raspberries it seemed she was never going to learn how to pick them without losing a pint of blood in the process. If they weren’t so ridiculously valuable she would have given up on the cursed fruit a long time ago. They were a hassle to harvest, a pain in the ass to tend, and keeping the birds and other wildlife from stealing was a whole job to itself. But they did fetch good prices.

She knew she shouldn’t complain. It may be hard, and often tedious work, but it was honest and safe. She pulled her finger back out of her mouth and let out a deep sigh, looking around at her immaculate little garden. Honest. Safe. And _ lonely _ without Peter. This farm had been Peter’s dream, he wanted his son to grow up in a calm and stable environment. But Peter was gone, had been for almost three unbearable years now; and Mellie couldn’t find the joy he had in the land without him.

Lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the ever growing brightness, she looked over to where her son Jeremy was still ‘helping’ to feed the chickens. She heard him squeal in delight as they swarmed around him with every dropped fistful of food. Like his father he seemed to love the land and the animals with a pure and innocent adoration. Of course he was only six. Far too young to understand the true labor involved. He may tire of it as he grew older and was tasked with more arduous chores than playing with chickens or riding his ‘ehh-pohni’ as she plowed the soil. Or perhaps he wouldn’t. He was  _ so _ much like Peter it almost hurt.

Returning the glove to her hand, she settled back into a rhythm of plucking the small demon berries from their branches; and listening with contentment to Jeremy’s laughter mixed with indignant chicken clucking. He was worth it. She would sleep on a bed of raspberry thorns for the rest of her life; hell she’d live in a damned berry bush - and much worse - as long as her son was safe.

  
  


The morning passed with repetitive ease. Mellie’s mind drifted away from the tedium of her physical actions as she focused on the warm sun heating her back, the gentle breeze that promised of afternoon rain, and the heartwarming sounds of her son playing in the distance. On mornings like this she could almost imagine that Peter was still here with them, behind her, out of sight. They would work in companionable silence, knowing their time to complete the days’ tasks was limited. Then in the afternoon when the rains settled over their home, they would curl up together and listen to the tinkling sound of raindrops on glass, the deep rumbling of thunder making the glass rattle; as the wind sighed around them. They would often fall asleep like this, comfortable, warm and safe together.

A cacophony of of chicken noises intermingled with her sons boisterous, “mum! A man!” interrupted her reminiscing, and she jerked - startled - jamming her hand into another thorn.

‘ _ What is the point of these gloves again? _ ’ She wondered irritated, although if she was being honest with herself, her sudden foul mood had more to do with the aching feeling in her chest as she remembered there would be no Peter wrapped around her this afternoon.

She stretched and got to her feet, brushing the dirt from her pants as she turned and looked to where her son pointed. Riding down the road leading to her home was a man in well tended clothing and armor that looked used. His confidence as he rode was familiar to her - it reminded her of -- 

‘ _ Peter..? _ ’

And she would swear her heart stopped. She felt her whole world shift. She knew that tussled mop of dirty blonde hair. She  _ knew _ the lines of that face, the shape of that jaw.  _ She knew that smile _ . In a heart-beat the world seemed to come back into focus, as if she’d been looking through a dirty window pane that was removed without warning.

“PETER!” she launched herself at him as he closed the distance, and threw herself into his arms as he dismounted. He chuckled into the hair on top of her head and wrapped strong arms around her, “Oh Peter....oh thank Pelor....you’re home. You’re safe,” She buried her face into his neck and inhaled the smell of him - sweat, leather, and horse mingled with something strange she didn’t recognize. 

“My love,” and oh how she’d missed his voice, bringing far too many memories and emotions all at once. It washed over her like a tidal wave on the sand, wiping away all the loneliness and leaving behind a state of calm she hadn’t felt in a long time, “My love?” Peter repeated and she realized he’d been talking to her as she zoned out focused on the sound of his voice.

A slight tug on her pant leg brought her attention to the small child looking up at her with inquiry, “Papa?” She beamed down at her boy, and pulled away from Peter to reach down and sweep Jeremy into her arms.

“Yes, papa,” she told him breathlessly, passing him into Peter’s waiting arms. He hugged the boy firmly to his chest with one hand and mussed his hair with the other.

“Yes, papa,” echoed Peter, smiling at the little carbon copy. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes, and a feeling of unease began to fill Mellie. She fought to ignore it, he was tired. He’d been traveling for who knew how long, he was exhausted, that was all, “Papa missed you little one” he told the child in his arm, but none of the adoration Peter always had for Jeremy was in the words.

Her growing sense of anxiety rushed back. Something wasn’t right. The sense of euphoria that had overcome her the moment she saw Peter fled her instantly, and there were suddenly so many things that were just  _ wrong.  _ Now that she stopped and paid attention she noticed dozens of little details - he had no wedding band, his emotions weren’t reaching his eyes or voice, he smelled strange under the usual road smells, he hadn’t called his son by name....

And since when had he called her ‘ _ My love _ ’? 

_ The spell went off, but the instant it did she could feel something strange pull at her, excess energy bubbling up and she didn’t have the time or the focus to direct it. Her vision went dark, and she felt her essence shift and change. She was acutely aware of the wind and sun in a way she’d never noticed before. It was almost a kind of vision of it’s own - but vastly different to what she was used to. Her world trembled and grew ‘dark’ again - melodic vibrations washed over her; soothing and pleasant. Then they were gone and it was just the tickle of air over sensitive limbs, and the warmth of the sun feeding her energy. She wondered for a moment if this was going to be permanent - then the thought drifted away far too complex to hold. _

_ She opened her eyes, blinking in confusion. Peter was crouching next to her with the widest smile she’d ever seen him wear before, his voice full of laughter as he spoke, “Well welcome back my little wildflower.” _

_ “My little wildflower.” _

A cold dread wrapped around her as she considered the man before her. She was uncertain now who this person was, what he was doing here, or what his motives might be. And he was holding her son. She forced herself to keep her smile, and fought to keep her voice light as she looked to Jeremy, “Why don’t you take Eponi and let Mr.Simmons know I won’t have his raspberries until tomorrow? You can ask him if he has any sugar to spare too, we can make a nice dessert for dinner.”

“But Muuuuummmm!! Papa jus’ got here!” The boy protested and clung to not-Peter, who in turn gave her a smile over the child’s head that turned her blood to ice in her veins. 

“Yes, I just got here. I would rather not have my family separated again so soon,” He stroked Jeremy’s hair with a possessive motion that reminded her of someone petting a dog, but the boy didn’t seem to notice the difference. He fixed her with eyes filled with steel, “Besides, it could be dangerous to send off such a young one by themselves,” 

His voice was silky, no more than a whisper, and yet it seemed to be a signal. Four figures appeared at the edges of her vision, and the inkling of fear she had been beginning to feel turned to full on terror. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, and she was breaking out in a sweat that had nothing to do with the summer sun bearing down on her.  _ Five _ . Five strange men, fixed on her with condescending leers. And her  _ son _ was in the arms of one of them. She couldn’t fight off five armed men by herself, even if her son wasn’t being held hostage.

“You’re not Peter. Wha- what do you want?” the words were soft, and came out with a tremble that made her cringe internally. She needed to get a hold of herself before Jeremy picked up on her fear, but even as she thought that, she realized it was too late. Her boy was squirming uncomfortably trying to get down.

‘Peter’ drew a knife in a swift motion, placing it against Jeremy’s throat, forcing the boy to stillness. “Don’t move boy, or I will end you,” He looked back to Mellie with a mocking smile,”I am Peter, and I left something here that I need to reclaim. Let’s go inside shall we?” With that he turned and began striding quickly towards the house, two of his men following, and the other two pulling swords to usher Mellie into the house too.

The wooden house wasn’t elaborate, but it had been built with love by the pair, and it was decently sized. The main door opened into a living space that had a hearth and the large plush sofa they shared as a family. A soft fur rug covered most of the floor, and the room was lit by two large windows on either side of the fireplace that let in the early afternoon sunlight. A soft orange glow covered the room, cast by glowing orbs hanging from the ceiling. Mellie had conjured the lights so many times over the years that they ceased to go out now.

She didn’t need to be forced really, she had already begun moving the moment ‘Peter’ did, she didn’t want to let her son out of her sight. She followed the men into her home - what had been a sanctuary, now tainted by the image of Peter holding her son with a knife under his chin, the boy wide eyed and pale; a small whimper escaping him.

  
  


”I don’t know what you expect to find here.  _ Peter _ took everything with him when he left for the war.” She met her son’s wide eyes and tried to impart some sense of calmness to him, but she didn’t feel calm herself so she was uncertain how successful she could be. The very image of the person who should have been a source of strength and confidence stood before her; twisting her emotions into something dark and surreal. Her grip on reality was shattering again. Peter was gone. Peter was back. Peter wasn’t  _ Peter _ .

“The war eh? Took  _ everything _ and left for the ‘war’ did he?” She jumped at the sound of the voice at her ear, one of the unknown, unnamed men who followed her inside. And oh, didn’t that just hurt like a knife to her gut? Because hadn’t she been asking herself the same questions for three years? Had he left to protect them? Or just left? Had he done this before? Did she  _ really _ know him? All the irrational fears and doubts that kept her up at night swirled through her mind, coalescing into a new panic that threatened to swallow her --

_ ‘Could this actually  _ be _ Peter??’ _

“Mum...?” Her head snapped back up and fixed on her son. 

_ ‘Stupid! It doesn’t matter who this person is or isn’t. He’s threatening my  _ son _ and I need to get it together and  _ do  _ something about this.’ _

As she came back to her senses, she realized the men had fanned out into her home searching for whatever it was Peter wanted, she was standing alone in the living room with him and her son, the smile he had fixed on her was oh so familiar, and yet sinister now. She struggled to calm her mind and  _ think.  _ She doubted they were going to find anything - there was nothing of any value in this home other than the wedding band she wore --

A thought bloomed. An idea, a very risky idea at that. If this really  _ was _ Peter it would, with all certainty fail, and be a disastrous failure at that. But -- if this isn’t Peter then it may just get her and her son out of this mess. She tucked one hand behind her slightly, and discreetly twisted the gem of her ring into the palm of her hand, as she gestured towards the doorway into the kitchen with the other, “It’s almost midday, are you hungry?” He cast a suspicious glare at her and she continued quickly, “Just because you lot are uncouth brigands does not mean  _ I _ must be. I’ll eat the same things if you’re so concerned I keep poison lying about my home with my young son.”

At that she saw some of the tension leave him, and he motioned for her to lead the way into the kitchen area.

‘ _ Good. Peter your propensity for drinks and pranks may just save us, and wouldn’t that just make you howl with laughter.....if this isn’t you that is....’ _

Walking into the room that served as both a dining area and food prep, she motioned to the solid wooden table surrounded by four equally solid chairs. They were simple, but made from a beautiful deep red wood, “Please have a seat.”

He looked for a moment as if he would decline, but then with another one of his smiles she was sure would haunt her dreams - assuming she survived this - he sat down. He pulled Jeremy into his lap, keeping the dagger snug against his throat the whole time. Jeremy whimpered softly again, but that only spurred Peter to pull the knife closer.

Trying to hide the terror that was rapidly turning into rage at the way her son was being handled, she began gathering things and placing them on the table. She had a loaf of half-eaten bread she’d baked the day before, some cheese, a few fruits and she even located a handful of nuts to add.

“Oh! I just remembered,” She turned and reached up to open an upper cabinet, “I still have some of Peter’s favorite ale. I’m not fond of the stuff, but couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it,” She dug in the cabinet until she found a small vial of a liquid she’d acquired from the local herbalist to aid with her anxiety - a sleeping drought. There were nights even still where she just couldn’t sleep without it, there wasn’t much but it was potent. One drop in her tea was enough to help her fall asleep. 

Peter was watching her every movement, she was certain he’d notice her combining the two bottles, just from the motion of her arms and shoulders. She needed to draw his attention - if only for a moment. She pulled both the bottles down and set them on the counter, then took a steadying breath.

Closing her eyes she reached into the depths of her mind, the feeling of pure vitality wrapped around her leaving her a little heady. The primal energies are pleasant, dancing along her consciousness in flickers of color and sensation, shifting from warm to cool, to electrifying, and back again faster than comprehension. They flow through her to settle on her fingertips, alive and playful; ready to  _ become _ with but a thought or feeling. She mentally gathers them, focuses, sharpens her mind to her intent, pushing all other thoughts and distractions away -- then with what feels like a vacuum settling into her, the energy is released.

Not able to see if her ploy will work, she popped the small cork and poured the whole bottle into the ale at the moment a loud crash is heard from another room, “I do hope your men aren’t destroying everything I possess. I may not have much, but everything I do have is within these walls.” She pockets the smaller bottle, then turns and places the jug of ale onto the table with the other gathered items.

The other four men entered the room over the course of the next few moments, each shaking their head towards Peter before sitting at the table. Peter looked.... agitated, his vision fixed on a spot on the table in concentration. It made her nervous - if they’d found whatever they were looking for they may have just left. But now? She didn’t know. Would he accuse her of withholding whatever it was? Selling it? She didn’t have the foggiest idea what he was after, but would he even believe her if she told him that? She forced herself to focus and calm down. This is why they were sitting at a table with drugged ale. Once they were all passed out she’d take Jeremy and they would go get help.

“Well? please help yourselves. Then maybe you can all leave me and my son in peace knowing we don’t have whatever you are searching for.” Silence falls as everyone seems to be waiting for someone else to do something, then one of the men shrugs and reaches for the ale. 

Peter’s soft voice breaks the silence. 

“Hold,” His men freeze in mid motion, as if they have become incapable of movement and Peter stares at Mellie with ice in his eyes, “You offer us the favored drink of your beloved lost husband - a drink you’ve held for three years out of sentiment - offered to a group you are calling brigands. Forgive me for suspecting you are less than....sincere.” He takes the jug and pours some of the liquid into a cup, picking it up and looking at it thoughtfully, then roughly shoves it toward her son without breaking her gaze,” Drink boy.”

“No!” her outburst draws every set of eyes to her, and Peter gives her a small knowing smirk as he continues to push the cup towards the boy’s lips, “ Absolutely not! He is much too young to be drinking that!” She forces her face to take on the reproachful expression she saved for the most unsavory of Peter’s pranks, and reaches to take the cup from him, “ _ I _ will drink it however, if you want proof of no ill intent!”

Emotions warred within her mind as she reached for the cup - fear that he wouldn’t relinquish the cup; anger at herself for almost getting her son caught in her trap; and faint hope that this may work. She knew she had to be perfect, reaching over the cup to grab it she let the diamond skim the surface of the drink, willing it to pull away the tainted effects she had added to it. Then the cup was in her hand, and she pulled it back and drank it down in one long gulp. The liquid is cool and tasteless, and she heaves a mental sigh of relief; at least she managed not to drug herself. Now there’s only the matter of if her sleight of hand went unnoticed by the five other sets of eyes watching her.

She screwed her face up in disgust as she set the cup into the sink, “Ugh, I will never grow to like ale,” then returning to the table she folded her arms and stands there subjecting herself to the scrutiny of these unknown men. Waiting for them to call her on her trick. Silence stretches into what must be an eternity as Peter regards her with an unreadable expression. A lump forms in her throat as she begins to doubt she’s fooled him. If he’s actually Peter, he knows what her ring can do, it was the very purpose he got the enchantment for afterall, or close enough to it. Her heart is trying to escape her ribcage, and she feels the tickle of magic around her fingers; she swallows and fights back the energy trying to leak through her emotions. A tense minute passes. Then two. Finally, after a solid five minutes that would have been more enjoyable eating the brambles she despises so much; Peter gives a curt nod, and pours himself some ale before passing the jug to another.

‘ _ Oh thank Pelor’ _

She almost slumps to the ground in relief, all of the strength seems to have fled her limbs; but she covers the motion up by leaning onto the table _ .  _ She waits until they all have their drink then indicates the food with a small hand motion,” Do you want to pick something for me to eat as well?” She has to fight to keep a grin off her face as she watches one by one, each of the men drink deep from the cups of ale they have served themselves. 

Peter gives a curt shake of his head as he breaks off a piece of bread, “No, that won’t be necessary. If you were going to poison something it wouldn’t be anything your son would have been likely to pick up,” He chews on the bread with enthusiasm, seeming to have genuine appreciation for it. Mellie longs to pull her son away to safety, but Peter is still holding the dagger in the hand he has looped around Jeremy, although it’s no longer held to his throat. 

The group of men are beginning to relax and chat amongst themselves, and the whole thing strikes Mellie as disgustingly  _ normal _ . Anyone who stumbled across them would never even suspect the true nature of this group. They’d see a group of friends, sharing a meal. Nothing more. That is until the first of the men falls over out of his chair, dropping the half-eaten apple he’d been enjoying. Mellie lets a smirk of her own spread on her face as another one looks up confused, and then falls forward onto the table. Then she reaches over and gently takes the dagger from Peter’s lax grip, dropping it to the floor, then pulls Jeremy away from him.

“You, bitch...gunna...kill. you,” Peter’s speech is slurred as he tries to fight the effects of the potion, struggling to get to his feet, but to no avail. He ends up faceplanting at Mellie’s feet in a rumbled heap instead.

Mellie stands there clutching Jeremy to her for a long minute as the adrenaline begins to work it’s way out of her bloodstream. She did it. She lets out a short unbelieving laugh, earning her a confused look from Jeremy; which only makes her laugh even harder. She wonders if her sanity snapped under the stress, and then lets out a long sigh of relief.

Her reprieve is short lived however as Jeremy asks quietly, “Why does papa want to kill you?”

_ ‘oh fuck’ _

Jeremy’s eyes are beginning to fill with tears now that the immediate danger has passed, and Mellie just pulls him tight to her, whispering calm words and stroking his back. She holds him as long as she dares, soothing herself with the small soft form of her unhurt son. But eventually she has to pull him away, and holds him at arm length by his shoulders.

“First, that’s not your papa. That is a bad man who pretended to be your papa,” She kneels down to look her son in the eyes and will him to understand the severity of her words, “Secondly, mum needs you to do something, okay? I need you to be brave. Go to your room, get into bed and wait there for me. Can you do that? No matter what you hear you stay there, okay?”

Jeremy sniffles, but nods, and after another brief hug he runs off to his room. She hears his door close, and lets out a sigh. She stands and surveys the mess of her kitchen, and while the immediate danger to her family has ended, a cold certainty nags at her. These men won’t go away. She could report them, yes. They may even serve time despite not having committed any actual crime beyond attempted looting. But they  _ will _ be back, and she refuses to run. 

She leans over and picks up the dagger that had threatened her son, inspecting it. It’s a good quality, has a nice weight and is stylish, but not ostentatious. She turns it over, watching the light reflect off the blade. A tool for murder. It’s strange how pretty it is. She starts with the strangers first. The first one is the hardest, she’s never killed anyone in cold blooded murder before. Her hand holding the blade trembles as she pulls it across his throat, leaving a jagged uneven line. Her sleeve and arm are splattered with the sticky fluid. The second one is a little easier, although she almost loses the grip on the dagger when her hand becomes coated in blood. The third and fourth aren’t even memorable to her.

She looks down at ‘Peter’ still face down on the floor, and nudges him over on his back with her bloody boot. Asleep his features are relaxed and he reminds her even more of her husband. She almost loses her nerve as she stares down at him, but then reminds herself; it doesn’t matter what he looks like. All that matters is he threatened her son. He was the easiest of them all.

Sometime later, she creeps into the room with her son. He’s still in bed where she told him to wait, but he’s awake. She’s cleaned everything up, no trace remains. No physical ones anyway. She crawls into bed and wraps her arms around her boy, kissing the top of his head gently and telling him they should sleep. He gives a sleepy nod, and if he smells the traces of blood and burnt flesh that still cling to his mother, he says nothing.

-fin

  
  



End file.
